


Always Beside You

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Drama, Erotica, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Second War with Voldemort, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-17
Updated: 2008-08-17
Packaged: 2018-10-27 14:27:32
Rating: ExplicitMature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10810860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: With the war-torn wizarding world in chaotic upheaval following the death of Albus Dumbledore, she finds comfort in the safety of his arms.  (Ron/Hermione)





	Always Beside You

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
> **Author's notes:**
> 
> Set just prior to the beginning of Deathly Hallows. Originally written for "June/July Kiss Quotes" on the live journal community: the_hp_love for the prompt _"A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous."_ \-- Ingrid Bergman

_Always Beside You_

  ~♥~

_"A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous."_ \-- Ingrid Bergman

  ~♥~

Hermione sat on her childhood bed on the second floor of her parents' home. She hated what was about to happen to them, but she could see no other way. They were not safe… and she, or rather the world to which she belonged, was the reason they were in danger. 

 

She had, with the help of other Order members, created new identities for her parents. She was packing a few last minute things for them when there was a light tapping at the door. She wondered who among them had come to assist with the dreaded task of modifying her parents' memories. She didn't trust herself to do it alone. It was too easy to do irreversible damage.

 

She drew her wand cautiously, opened the door and came face-to-face with the kind eyes of Remus Lupin.

 

"Hello, Hermione."

 

"Hello, Professor—I mean, Remus. P-please come in."

 

"Do you have them all packed?"

 

Hermione inclined her head towards the trunks and gave a slight nod.

 

"Good, good. Now, you'll need to go wait upstairs until I can get them out of here. I'll be back to get you tomorrow and take you to the Burrow, but I'll need to stay with them tonight to make sure the memory modifications firmly take hold. A Confundus Charm should be enough to convince them to come with me willingly."

 

"But I thought I was supposed to help with the modifications?"

 

"No, that's a very challenging bit of magic, Hermione."

 

She bristled at his remark. 

 

Remus smiled apologetically at her. "I only meant to say that an _Obliviate_ strong enough to cause a parent to forget their own child is best done by a witch or wizard with some experience in performing them. I can only imagine that would be a most difficult thing to forget once you're a parent."  

 

An expression crossed Remus' face that Hermione could not read.  He must have felt her eyes boring into him because he regained his composure quickly.  

 

"So who will be performing the memory modifications?" She wasn't about to allow just anyone to perform this sort of powerful magic on her parents.

 

Remus looked at her with understanding clearly written upon the face that had been unreadable only moments before. "Bill Weasley and Kingsley Shacklebolt."

 

Hermione nodded, and exhaled a large breath she was previously unaware she had been holding. Bill and Kingsley. There could not be two more qualified wizards. Bill had been one of the best Curse-Breakers Gringotts had ever employed, and Kingsley had not secured his position as Head of the Auror Department by being anything less than exceptional. Her parents were in good, capable hands. She had been terrified she would not do it correctly and would hurt one of her parents irreparably. That was not a guilt she could bear. For once in a very long while, she felt a bit of relief. 

 

"Do you need a few minutes to say goodbye? I can wait outside or—"

 

"No. I've already—No reason to make this harder than it has to be. I'm ready." She turned and walked upstairs, tears slipping down her cheeks as she heard the front door close behind them. 

 

~♥~

 

She spent the next hour walking around the quiet house where she had spent the earliest days of her youth, gathering a few photographs that she wanted to take with her and adding them to the little, beaded bag. All that was left to do now was to wait for Remus to retrieve her tomorrow. She turned on the telly to prevent the now-empty house from deafening her with its silence. 

 

There was a knock at the door. She wasn't expecting anyone. Perhaps Remus had forgotten something. She tightened her grip on her wand and approached the front door with caution. There was an impatient, much louder knock that made her jump back when she reached the door, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

 

"Who's there?" she asked.

 

"It's me."

 

"Ron?" she asked, opening the door only slightly.

 

"Yeah."

 

"What are you doing here?"

 

"It's great to see you too. You gonna let me in?" She opened the door to allow him entry. "I just thought you might not want to be alone tonight when I overheard Remus tell Bill about the plans, and him having to stay with your parents tonight to make sure the memory modifications take hold."

 

"Thank you," she said softly. There were days he could be so insensitive and oblivious. Then, there were days like this when his thoughtfulness made her pulse race and her heart beat in double time.

 

"You've been crying." He said it quietly, and she nodded. Her eyes must be dreadfully swollen for him to notice.

 

"A bit."

 

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and looked at the floor as he shuffled uncomfortably from foot-to-foot. "I don't really know what to—"

 

"I'm glad you came," she interrupted. 

 

"You are?"

 

"Yes."

 

"So this is where you grew up, huh?" he asked, looking around.

 

"Well, when I wasn't growing up at Hogwarts or the Burrow or Grimmauld Place."

 

"Good point," he said with a good-natured grin.

 

"Want a tour?"

 

"Sure. Dad's gonna be sorry he missed this, you know?"

 

She laughed at the image that came to mind of Mr. Weasley, wide-eyed, investigating everything in her parents' house. 

 

"You're right. He is. When all of this is over, we'll have to bring him here."

 

"He'd like that," Ron said, "but your parents may never be shod of him."

 

"This is my parents' room," she said as they entered the first room at the top of the stairs. 

 

"How old were you in this?" Ron reached for the framed photograph that had set on her parents' bedside table for as long as she could remember. 

 

"That's Mum's favourite photo. It was right before my first birthday." She stood beside him looking at the photograph of the chubby baby with large brown eyes, dimpled hands and just enough hair to show a hint of curling ends. 

 

"This one's her favourite?" Ron cocked his head from one side to the other as he asked the question.

 

"Yes. Why?"

 

"Did anyone ever tell you that you have an oddly-shaped head, Hermione?"

 

"I beg your pardon?"

 

"Well, I mean look at it. It's sort of lopsided. I think one of your ears is even higher than the other."

 

"You take that back, Ron Weasley." Hermione's fist connected sharply with his upper arm. "I said take it back."

 

"Okay, okay." Ron rubbed his upper arm in feigned pain. "But you really should be glad your hair grew out," he mumbled under his breath.

 

Hermione glared icily at him once more. "I heard that."

 

"I meant for you to hear," he said in a sing-song-type fashion that made her giggle. She took the framed photo from his hand and started back toward the bedside table with it. Ron's voice stopped her before she could return it to its rightful place.

 

"Maybe you should keep it safe until she comes home, huh? Take it with you, you know, since it's her favourite. You could leave it at the Burrow, if you want. Mum would keep it safe for you." 

 

He was behind her before she had any indication that he was approaching. Her first indication he was behind her was when he reached around her and removed it from her hand, carrying the framed photograph with him into the hallway, where a collage of photos hung in an extremely large frame on the wall. 

 

She followed him and stood at his side. Ron pointed to one picture of her in her Hogwarts school robes. 

 

"That was after we came home from our first shopping trip in Diagon Alley, right after my Hogwarts letter came. See," she pointed, "no patch on the robe yet."  

 

"You were so little," Ron said.

 

"I wasn't the only one," she said, moving her finger to trace over a photograph of the two of them with Harry. Hagrid had taken this particular photo outside of his hut one unseasonably warm day in that Autumn of their first year at Hogwarts. It seemed as though a lifetime had passed in the six years that followed… and each day had led them one step closer to here. They stood on the brink of passing from teen to adult, and their lives had changed so drastically, and were about to do so again. When this photograph had been taken so many years ago, they had looked upon the world with eyes still blurred by innocence. What she wouldn't give to have that back.

 

Ron's words broke into her thoughts. 

 

"That's not fair. _I_ am supposed to get to tease you about how silly you look in photographs when we're at your house. You've had years of seeing my photos at the Burrow. It's my turn, ya know."

 

She could not resist returning his jest. "Ah, yes. Photos at the Burrow. My favourite is the one in your Mum and Dad's room.  You know the one where you're---"

 

"Oi! I know which one! Hush!" He pinched her side.

 

"But—"

 

"Hermione, another word and I swear I will turn this house upside down to find naked baby pictures of you."

 

She closed her mouth, as she knew her parents certainly had them here.

 

"Ah, so they exist, do they?" He cocked an eyebrow at her.

 

"I said no such thing."

 

"You didn't have to. I know _that_ look."

 

She did her best to turn her glare icy, but her attempt at coldness failed. Her lip kept twitching with the smile that she was trying to suppress. She did manage a modicum of an icy tone, however, when speaking to him. "Do you want to finish this tour or not, Ronald?"

 

"Will there be more things to tease you about?"

 

"Undoubtedly," she said, all attempts at hiding her smile now abandoned. 

 

"Then by all means, lead on." He punctuated his sentence with laughter. It was warm and comforted her in a way that nothing else had in such a very long time. She hadn't realised how very much she had missed him. 

 

He followed her with the framed photograph tucked beneath his arm. She took it from him, shrunk it so it was smaller than a knut and put it in her bag. She opened a door on her left and walked inside with Ron behind her. "Um, this is my room."

 

"No way."

 

"What?"

 

"The walls are… they're pink," he said, making a terrible face when he looked at the pastel pink bedroom.

 

"I was a little girl once, you know?"

 

"Even as a little girl, I can't imagine you wanting pink walls. Of course, I admit, I really can't imagine you as a little girl."

 

"I didn't want them," she admitted, inclining her head toward the pink walls, "but my mum—well, you know how parents are. She painted the walls in here when I was four."

 

"Did she make you wear those lacy dresses and have tea parties too?"

 

Hermione nodded. 

 

"Ah, love, had I known I would have come to your rescue long before now," Ron said giving her a sweepingly dramatic bow and going down on one knee to capture her hand, as though he were a knight come to rescue his fair lady, a damsel in distress. He brushed his lips ever so lightly across the back of her hand and looked up at her with laughter dancing in his bright blue eyes.

 

What if she never saw this room again? Even with its horribly pink walls, it was her room. It was home. What if she or her parents never made it back here? A tear slipped down her cheek and Ron reacted instantly, rising to his feet to put an arm around her waist.

 

"I was only teasing," he whispered standing close and pulling her forward into the circle of his arms in an attempt at offering comfort. "Please don't cry. Pink's not so bad, I guess."

 

"I'm sorry," she said, attempting to wipe the tears away. "I was just thinking—"

 

"--about not coming back?" He finished her sentence when the sobs in her throat refused to allow her to finish it herself.

 

"Yes," she replied taking a step back from him.

 

"Don't think that way. You'll be back. I promise."

 

"That's not a promise you can keep. You can't see the future or know what lies ahead for us… any of us… all of us."

 

"Okay, well technically, I should be able to 'see' into the future. I'm sure I've still got my crystal ball from Divination at home somewhere. And what with all of those years of stellar instruction I received in the area of 'the sight'."

 

She giggled a bit. "Did you ever see manage to 'see' anything inside that crystal ball?"

 

He laughed with her. "No. Last time I used the bloody thing was to hold down a piece of parchment that kept trying to roll up when I dipped my quill into the inkwell."

 

"It's nice to know it served some practical purpose at least," Hermione offered.

 

"That was the only practical thing I ever accomplished with it," Ron conceded. "But while I may not be able look into that lovely crystal globe and foretell your future, Miss Granger, I promise you will be coming back. Have no fear, love. Have I ever made you a promise I didn't keep?"

 

"You've never promised me anything before."

 

"I certainly have no intention of breaking my first promise to you."

 

"Not intentionally, but you can't know what's going to happen. You can't promise I'll make it back here."

 

"Yes, I can. I don't plan on letting anything happen to you."

 

She buried her face in her hands and felt his arms go around her shoulders, awkwardly, as if he was unsure he should. His touch provided the comfort she so desperately needed, and she clung to it burying her face in his shirt and clinging tightly to him.  "I'm scared, Ron," she whispered into his chest.

 

His response was to tighten his embrace and rub circles on her back. It was exactly what she needed at the moment. His arms afforded her a comfort that she had been seeking since Dumbledore's funeral, but it was only within the circle of his embrace that she had found it. It was as if she belonged there, as if his arms had been made to hold her in just such a way. She was a perfect fit.

 

"You're trembling."

 

She held on to him more tightly as he stroked her hair and back. "I'm sorry," she said after a few minutes, stepping away and attempting to compose herself, though putting distance between them was the last thing she wished to do.

 

"It's okay to be scared, Hermione."

 

"No, it's not. Harry's gonna need us to be strong."

 

"Harry's not here. It's just me," he said sitting on her bed. "You don't have to be strong. Not for me."

 

"I don't suppose you came all this way to listen to me whinge pathetically the entire time you're here," she said pacing the length of the room, rubbing at her face all the while in an attempt to remove any traces of her tears. 

 

"Nah, I came to see your parents' telly. Fred insists that every Muggle house has one and they're the most bleedin' amazing things he's ever seen." She turned to meet his gaze and saw that his blue eyes were dancing with mischief. The corner of his mouth turned up in an impish smile, and he looked up from his position perched on the edge of her bed.

 

The tension in the room dissipated as laughter spilled from her lips. "Good to know where I rank in the scheme of things, you pillock."

 

"Hermione Granger! What a filthy mouth you have."

 

"You’re a bad influence."

 

"No denying that," he mumbled. "It's good to hear you laugh, even if you do need your mouth washed out with a bar of soap." 

 

She crossed the room and stood before him, "It will take bigger and better than you, Ron Weasley, to accomplish a task such as that." Her prim and proper tone hinted at the challenge that lay beneath her words.

 

"Oh, is that right?" His reflexes had improved over the past year, and before she could retort or retreat, he grabbed her around the waist and wrestled her down to the bed tickling her unmercifully. 

 

"Ah, Ron. No—no. I'm--I'm really, really ticklish," she said, all the while attempting to wriggle free from his grasp and erupting in a fit of giggles as he tickled her with fervor. 

 

"Are you now? Well let's just see how ticklish you are, shall we?" He rolled her to her back and held her down with the weight of his body, trapping her kicking legs by clamping his muscular thighs around them.

 

"No, Ron. I'm serious—ah—really. I'm really—Ah." She squealed as his fingers launched a new assault on her sides. "Ron! Ack, ah, Ron," she gasped through a half-laugh/half-squeal, struggling all the while to escape his grasp. She was surprised at the strength he possessed. She was unable to free herself from his viselike hold, only managing to wiggle slightly away from him once. That attempt was fruitless, however, as he simply pulled her back with little effort. 

 

The wrestling match had them both breathing heavily in a matter of moments. His lips were mere inches from hers, and the weight of his body felt oddly right above her. Her hand brushed the fringe from his brow, and she smiled at the way it felt between her fingers. 

 

There was no trace of the awkward boy he had been, and she stroked her knuckles down the angular line of his jaw. The rounded features of youth were no longer present in his face. Her other hand traced the scars that ran the length of one of his arms. His mouth grew closer with every passing second. He inclined his head and brought his lips down lightly over hers. His tongue snaked out and licked its way across her lower lip as though asking permission for entry. She sucked in a surprised breath at the depth of his kiss. 

 

The sound of her breath seemed to bring him back to his senses. He shook his head and looked at her with a surprised expression. "Hermione, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

 

"Do it again." _Did she say that? No, it couldn't have been her because nice girls didn't say those things. And she was a nice girl, wasn't she?_

 

"What?"

 

"Do-it-again." _Apparently not._

 

"Hermione, are you sure?"

 

"DO-IT-AGAIN!" _No, the antithesis of a nice girl, that's what she was._

 

Hermione decided at that moment if she was going to die for this cause, and there was a good chance they all might, she wasn't going to do it without knowing how this felt… without knowing how _he_ felt. She nodded her head to indicate she was very sure this was what she wanted.

 

He hesitated still, so she raised herself up to recline on her elbows, and kissed him lightly on the mouth, diverting his attention as she grasped the hem of her shirt between them, only pulling away from him to tug it over her head. 

 

The sight of her bare skin seemed to spur him into motion. He kissed a path across her stomach, dipping his tongue inside her navel along the way and making her giggle at the sensation. _Someone should have told her long ago that being a nice girl was a seriously overrated aspiration._

 

She didn't recall him moving them, but he must have shifted them at some point because he was lying beside her on her bed, tracing a circle around her navel with his fingertip, his face inches from hers before he pulled back worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

 

He frowned, and his brow furrowed in frustration. "Hermione, I don't think we should—I mean—" He moved away from her quickly, as though just regaining his senses about him. He paced the length of the room, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. Experience told her that it was a nervous habit he only fell into when he was at his wit's end. 

 

"Hermione, I didn't come here for this."

 

"Oh." It felt as if the bottom had just fallen out of her world, and her face blazed in embarrassment as she reached for her recently discarded shirt.  

 

"Wait! No, that's not what I meant. I mean I want to—just not with you."

 

"That was helpful. Thank you, Ronald." She tugged her shirt down and shoved her way past him toward the door.

 

He grabbed her arms, pulling her back. "That's not what I meant either. Blimey, listen to me. It was different with Lavender."

 

"I am so sorry if Lavender Brown was better at this than I am." Unshed tears burned her eyes.

 

"Now you're puttin' words in my mouth. Stop and let me think a second before I bugger this up any worse."

 

"I think you've said quite enough, Ronald. I'd like to walk out of this room with at least a modicum of my dignity intact, if you don't mind."

 

"I do."

 

"So you want to humiliate me completely?" 

 

"Bloody hell. Of course not. I just don't want you to think—I don't want you to think I came here to take advantage of you. I mean you're scared, and your parents were just taken out of here to have their memories obliviated and—and—and… I don't know what you want me to say."

 

So that was what this was about: her parents. She breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn't rejected _her_.  

 

He flopped down onto her bed and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, resting his head in his hands as if it pained him. "Hermione, what I'm trying to say is—"

 

Before he could finish the sentence she had removed her shirt and jeans with a silent wave of her wand, and was sliding down onto his lap pushing his shoulders back as she followed him down, so that he was flat on the his back with her astride him.

 

His eyes were wide. "Hermione, I don't want you to do anything that you don't—I mean—it's just—"

 

She leaned forward and cupped his face between her hands, capturing his mouth and kissing him, working her tongue past his lips, and hearing him groan her name from somewhere deep in his throat. It sounded delicious. 

 

She released his lips, breathing heavily against him as she ground her hips instinctively against the hardness that was becoming more evident by the moment. His hands cupped her bottom and he encouraged her to continue the grinding motions by arching up against her. 

 

"Hermione, you're absolutely positive that you—"

 

Rather than quieting him with spoken words of her own, she swallowed down his attempts at conversation when she pressed her lips against his and kissed him silent.

 ~Fin.~


End file.
